Terror tries to drown out rational thought, but I force myself to think past the panic threatening to overwhelm me. He's fishing, trying to gauge how much information I actually possessversus what I might have guessed or assumed. If I'm careful, maybe I can convince him I know less than I actually do.
"I saw you kill Nia," I say with honesty that costs me everything to maintain. "I don't think many orcs would care about a human death."
"Is that all?" His dark eyes narrow with suspicion that makes my pulse stutter. "Because my sources suggest the Frostfang have been very protective of their little human bride. Almost as if they think you're valuable beyond simple political convenience."
The words make dread pool in my stomach as implications cascade through my mind. If he knows about the Valentine rituals, about Kai's reluctant participation, then he's been watching longer than any of us realized. Planning this extraction with careful attention to timing and opportunity.
"They're just honoring some ancient tradition," I lie with desperation that hopefully sounds like confusion. "Something about Cupid choosing matches during their celebrations."
He straightens with an expression that suggests he's not entirely convinced but perhaps willing to accept that explanation for now. "How touching. And what did you tell them about our activities? About what you witnessed before your dramatic flight?"
This question carries more weight, dangerous undertones that make every survival instinct scream warnings about the consequences of wrong answers. I can feel him evaluating my responses, cataloguing information that might determine not just my immediate fate but potentially the safety of everyone back at the Frostfang settlement.
"Nothing," I say with as much conviction as I can muster. "I told them Stonevein orcs were in the area, that I was running from them. They already knew about territorial disputes—they didn't need details about ancient history."
"Ancient history." He tastes the phrase like something bitter, contempt darkening his already harsh features. "Is that what you call the restoration of proper order? The reclamation of power that was stolen from us?"
Despite everything, curiosity wars with terror in my chest. The way he talks about magic, about restoration and theft, suggests losses I hadn't fully comprehended. Whatever the orcs lost when they came to this world, it clearly cut deeper than simple inconvenience.
"I don't understand any of that," I admit with honesty that feels safer than continued deception. "I'm just a scavenger trying to survive. I don't know anything about magic or power or whatever you think humans represent."
"Don't you?" His voice carries skeptical amusement that makes unease crawl across my skin. "Then perhaps you can explain why your blood resonated so strongly during our experiments? Why every ritual we've attempted has come closer to success when human essence is involved?"
The question hits like ice water, confirming fears I'd barely allowed myself to acknowledge. They're not just killing humans for sport or dominance—we're ingredients in something larger, components in magical workings that I can't begin to comprehend but that clearly represent existential threat to anyone with human blood.
"I wouldn't know," I manage past the constriction in my throat. "I've never seen real magic work."
"No," he agrees with satisfaction that makes my stomach clench. "But you will. Soon enough, you'll understand exactly what your kind was always meant for in the natural order."
The casual certainty in his voice makes terror spike through my system, but beneath the fear, anger burns steadier and brighter. The same rage that kept me moving when everythingfell apart, that drove me to survive when survival seemed impossible.
"You can threaten me all you want," I say with defiance that surprises us both. "I still won't help you."
"Help?" His laugh carries genuine amusement that somehow makes the sound more terrifying. "Oh, little rabbit. You misunderstand your role entirely. This isn't about cooperation or choice. This is about utility."
He turns away with a dismissive gesture that makes me feel even smaller, moving toward the crude wooden table I hadn't noticed before. Papers scatter across its surface, covered with symbols and diagrams that hurt to look at directly, and among them lies something that makes my heart stop entirely.
A piece of fabric I recognize—torn from the shirt Ressa was wearing the last time I saw her.
"You have her," I breathe, the words emerging as accusation rather than question.
"Had," he corrects with casual cruelty that makes the world tilt sideways. "Your friend proved... instructive in our recent experiments. Quite illuminating, actually, the way human blood interacts with certain ritual components."
"No." The denial tears from my throat like a physical wound, but his expression carries satisfaction that confirms my worst fears. "No, she got away. She ran in the opposite direction."
"She ran exactly where we herded her," he says with matter-of-fact brutality that makes nausea roll through my stomach. "Did you really think that chase was random? That you both escaped through luck rather than design?"
The revelation sends understanding crashing over me in waves that leave me gasping against stone walls. They let me go on purpose, used my escape to drive me toward the Frostfang while they captured Ressa for whatever horrors they had planned. My survival came at the cost of my best friend's life.
"She's still alive," I say with desperate hope that sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"For now." His tone suggests that survival is temporary at best, contingent on factors beyond anyone's control. "Human resilience is remarkable, really. Much more durable than we initially calculated."
The clinical assessment of my friend's suffering makes rage explode through my chest, hot and consuming and absolutely murderous. Every protective instinct I've ever felt, every moment of helpless fury at watching loved ones suffer, crystallizes into hatred so pure it leaves me shaking.
"I'll kill you," I promise with conviction that surprises us both.
"Will you?" He turns back toward me with an expression of mild curiosity, as if I'm some interesting specimen rather than actual threat. "And how exactly do you plan to accomplish that from a stone cell, with no weapons, no allies, and no magical abilities of your own?"
